The Silver Knight
by Bellarsam Chrisjulittle
Summary: While the younger Holmes brother sees nothing beyond the frumpy cardigans and social awkwardness, the elder Holmes brother sees so much more...perhaps even everything. Here ye shall find fluff and Mollcroft, so no likey no touchey.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **_Here is my first real attempt at a Mollcroft fic, which is a ship I've always had a soft spot for. I know my Aprli Fool's fic falls into that ship, but I wrote it as a joke more than anything. This will be a short multi-chapter for now, and I'd appreciate any support or feedback I can get. _

_Fair warning: our dear consulting detective is a bit of a jerk in this story. If you ever feel like kicking him at any point, that's the reaction I'm going for. _

_Also, you'll see a different side to Mycroft, which is necessary for this kind of story. The Mycroft we see on the show is only the side of Mycroft that deals with his little brother, which explains his constant state of annoyance, weariness, and his snippy attitude. So in this fic, being one half of a sweet romantic pairing, you're going to see some of his __nicer, dare I say sweeter, qualities. :) Now read and enjoy!_

* * *

**One**

Molly was walking briskly from the hospital canteen to the lab, carrying a cup of coffee in each hand, one for Sherlock and one for John. She truly didn't mind fetching coffee for them; the pathologist was used to it by now. Besides, she would have a cup of her own on her break at her favorite café down the block. There, the stuff they brewed could actually be called 'coffee.'

But when Molly reached the lab door, the voices of Sherlock and John could be heard, since the door was open a crack. Her steps slowed and quieted as she heard the conversation, not wanting to walk in at the wrong time lest it be about a case and the discussion was important.

"So, you all ready for the ball tonight?"

"Ugh, John, _why _must you call it that? It is a government function in a ballroom that happens to be white-tie."

John chuckled. "Sorry, but when I hear formal dress and dancing are involved, the word 'ball' comes to mind. So, you all set for it?"

Sherlock huffed. "I suppose so. I have my armor – white tie and tails, as you call it – are ready, and I am picking my date up at seven."

"Your date? Wow, I was afraid you wouldn't get one."

"Of course I did, John! Not having a date would single me out at the event."

"So, who are you taking then? Molly?"

The indignant and hysterical snort that Sherlock let out froze Molly by the doors.

"_Molly Hooper_? Please, John, why would you think I would ask _her _to an event like this?"

"Um…because she would help you if you asked? Because you trust her as much as me? Wouldn't that be more than reason enough for you to ask her?"

"It would if Molly were at all capable of being credibly presentable at such an event."

Molly felt as though she had been slapped, and the hands holding the handles of the coffee mugs began to shake.

Thankfully, John was quick to come to her defense. "Sherlock, how can you say that? How can you believe that?"

"Oh, John, don't be stupid. Look at the way she dresses, especially that yellow monstrosity with an even more monstrous bow she wore to your wedding. Do you really think her capable of dressing for an event like this and not be an embarrassment? And given that conversation or social skills are qualities that completely evade her, and that Molly has a history of making a mountain out of a molehill when it comes to any gesture that I give her, you can understand why Molly Hooper would be the very last person I would ever ask to accompany me to such an event."

Molly had heard enough and had enough. None too quietly, Molly entered the lab, slamming the door open with her shoulder so it reverberated off the wall with great force that echoed through out the lab. She was satisfied in the fact that it wasn't only John who gave a little jump at her arrival. She approached the two men with a stony expression on her face. While Sherlock had turned back to his microscope and John was now looking at her in terror and apology, Molly knew that both of them knew that she had overheard their conversation.

When she came to John, she smiled at him sincerely. "Here's your coffee, John," said Molly, handing him his mug. "Thank you for being the white knight that you are. If you don't mind, I'm going to take my break now, so call for Mike if you need any help." Before John could reply, Molly had turned and begun to walk away. But before she could pass Sherlock completely, she paused and said sweetly, "Oh, and here's your coffee, Sherlock."

She then proceeded to pour the entire contents of it on his head of curls, after which she made a quick retreat out of the lab. The sounds of Sherlock's exclamations and curses of pain and John's hysterical laughter were music to her ears.

* * *

Molly had the good sense to grab her coat as well as her purse from her tiny office before leaving St. Bart's for her favorite café. However, it was the wrong coat to wear for a deluge of rain that she had not expected to encounter.

Groaning, poor Molly shoved her hands into her pockets and lowering her head before beginning her walk at a rapid pace. She still got completely soaked after only a few long strides, though. "Great," she mumbled to herself. "They'll probably be too frightened of a wild creature like me to serve me."

Just as Molly came to the café, she suddenly felt the rain above her cease. But before she could look up to see the reason for that, she collided with something solid and warm. The force of the collision caused Molly to lose her balance, but before she could fall backwards, an arm wrapped around her waist and steadied her. Looking up, Molly gasped.

"Mr. Holmes!" Molly exclaimed breathlessly, in complete shock. For it was indeed the elder Holmes brother, shielding them from the rain with his elegant umbrella.

"Dr. Hooper," greeted Mycroft smoothly, a small smile of amusement on his face, but his eyes held only kindness, even…admiration.

Realizing how close they were standing under the umbrella, not to mention that his arm was still around her waist, Molly blushed and lowered her gaze. "Um…to what do I owe this…meeting?" The fact that Molly had almost said 'pleasure' shocked her even more. His arm fell to his side, and Molly's breathing calmed somewhat.

"I wondered if I could join you for a cup of coffee here," said Mycroft. "Would you mind?"

Was it her overactive imagination, or did she see a drop of nervousness in his eyes? _Definitely my imagination, _she thought, but she replied aloud, "Um, sure, of course."

Mycroft sheltered her from the rain until they came under the awning of the café, closing his umbrella before opening the door for her. He then led her to two stuffed armchairs before the fireplace in the corner. Still in a bit of a dazed shock, Molly didn't wonder for too long how the most popular seats in the café, which she'd never seen free before, were free now.

After Mycroft had helped her out of her soaked coat, and hung it up along with his own long one, he walked to the counter to order for them, and Molly took the opportunity to warm up in front of the roaring fire, taking off her soaked shoes so they could dry and squeezing the rain from her wet ponytail. She was quite cozy and warmed up by the time Mycroft returned. Not only had he brought her coffee just the way she liked it - cream, no sugar – but he'd also purchased homemade cinnamon rolls that she had a sweet tooth for.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes," she said sincerely, after he'd taken the seat in the stuffed armchair by her.

"Please call me Mycroft, Dr. Hooper," said the elder Holmes.

Molly smiled. "Only if you call me Molly, Mr. Holmes."

Her cheeks went a little pink. Her teasing had come dangerously close to flirting. Since when would she ever have the nerve to _flirt _with the British government? She had only had a handful of encounters with the elder Holmes brother, after all. But she had never been afraid of him, not really. Oh, she knew that he was an incredibly powerful man, even dangerous should he choose to be, but never had she feared for herself in his presence. Perhaps that and the shock accounted for her nerve now.

Whatever it was, Mycroft seemed to like it. He smiled again and raised his coffee cup to her. "Molly," he toasted.

"Mycroft." Molly raised her own cup to return the toast.

They drank their coffee and ate their cinnamon rolls in silence for a while. Her shock was wearing off now, and Molly began to feel quite self-conscious. While Mycroft was dressed so elegantly in a light grey suit without a raindrop on him, Molly sat beside him with a clashing cardigan and blouse, in her stocking feet, and her head matted and drenched. Realizing her state caused her to remember Sherlock's scathing comments about her style and personality compared to something elegant and formal, like a grand ball or the man whom she was having coffee with now. She was soon poking her cinnamon roll with her fork rather than eating it.

"Molly."

Said pathologist looked up quickly, being pulled out of her daze. "Hm?"

Mycroft was looking at her with – could it be true? – some concern. "What's happened?"

Instead of wondering something silly like how he knew something had happened (he was a Holmes, for God's sake!), she instead asked a much smarter question: "You don't know already?"

He smiled briefly. "While I may have eyes and ears all over the British Isles, I am not an omnipresent being." He soon became serious again. "Has my darling brother treated you carelessly again?" he asked, a bite in his concern.

Molly sighed and sat back in her chair. "Is it that obvious?"

"I'm afraid so," he answered, not unkindly. "I'd prefer to hear the story from you, rather than resort to…other methods." And both knew perfectly well that Mycroft Holmes was more than capable of finding out a number of other ways.

His words touched Molly, and it gave her the courage to relay what had happened just twenty minutes ago. She kept her eyes on the half-eaten cinnamon roll she continued to move around with her fork as she spoke, her cheeks burning as she repeated Sherlock's words about her, not daring to look at his brother; her current state of dress and wet only made Sherlock's scathing words all the more true. Finally, in a rush, she ended the story with her own juvenile reaction and took a bite of her cinnamon roll. It tasted like soaked cardboard to her now.

The sound of an amused chuckle caused Molly to finally look at Mycroft again. He was looking at her with genuine admiration in his eyes as he quietly laughed. "Well done, Molly," he said, giving her another toast with his mug before setting it down. "Your punishment fit the crime."

Molly let herself smile a bit. "Really?"

"Oh, yes. Considering how many times you have fetched coffee for him, he deserved to wear it after speaking such nonsense about you."

Molly felt her cheeks heat up again. "Nonsense?" she asked, twisting the end of her damp ponytail unconsciously.

Mycroft nodded, the expression in his eyes shifting from amusement to something more serious that made her breath hitch. The intense moment was broken, however, by the sound of her mobile going off in her trouser pocket. She pulled it out, praying that it was not the younger Holmes brother, but breathed again when she saw that it was John. She looked at Mycroft again, who gave her a little nod that reassured her he wouldn't mind her taking the call. She smiled apologetically before answering.

"Hello, John."

"Molly, hey. I just wanted to…well, after what happened…are you okay?"

His tone was so concerned and guilty that Molly couldn't help but smile a bit. "Yes, John, I'm okay. This is hardly the first time this has happened, and nothing that he said truly surprised me since it's all rooted in at least some truth."

John sighed. "Don't say that, Molly. Please don't think any less of yourself because of what he said."

"Oh, I don't," said Molly firmly. "I just know myself, and I only said that what he said was rooted in truth, not that what he said was true. So if he wants to stereotype me, that's his problem. I am not the doormat that he could manipulate to walk through hell for him that I once was. And don't you dare apologize for him; you did nothing wrong, and he doesn't deserve you doing that for him."

"Thanks, Molly, I appreciate that," said John before he lowered his voice conspiratorially. "And incidentally…your reaction was fucking brilliant. Thank you so much for that image."

They shared a laugh. "I assume he's still pouting."

John snorted. "If by pouting you mean throwing a temper tantrum worthy of the most tiresome toddler, oh yes. I could only last five minutes, and I dearly hope he'll have calmed down by tonight."

"Ah, yes, this ball…Is this for a case?"

John chuckled. "In a way. Our most recent success caught the notice of some pretty…high-up people, let's call it, and we really couldn't turn down this invitation made from gratitude."

"All right…" said Molly, deciding not to push for details in case he couldn't answer. "Is Mary able to go with you?"

"Yep, Mrs. Hudson is watching Emma. Mary's really looking forward to being glamorous after giving birth, especially since she's gotten back to her weight before the pregnancy."

"Good for her! So…who _is _Sherlock's date, anyway?" Molly wasn't jealous, just curious.

"Ah, yes…" John sounded both uncomfortable and a bit surprised. "It's Janine, actually. Do you remember her?"

Molly's eyebrows went up. "Really? After all he put her through, she agreed to this?"

"Apparently. It seems that when she got her media revenge on Sherlock for faking a relationship with her, both of them thought this made them even. Also, I think she is excited for this opportunity to be among so many rich and powerful men, and have Sherlock Holmes deduce the best one for her like he did at the wedding."

"Ah," was all Molly could say, while she thought: _Well, he did call her beautiful, so of course she would be an acceptable woman on his arm for such an event._ Swallowing her injured pride, she continued aloud, "Well, I hope you and Mary have a wonderful time, truly. Make sure she gives me all the details by the weekend."

"Absolutely, Molls, we'll talk soon," said John. "And if you need anything at all, you know you can call."

"I do know, John, thank you," said Molly. "Bye." She hung up her mobile and put it back in her pocket.

Turning her gaze back to Mycroft, Molly saw that he was looking at her quite thoughtfully. She was about to inquire what was on his mind when he leaned forward in his chair, clasping his hands as his elbows rested on his knees.

"What would you say if I were to offer you the chance to prove my brother wrong?" he said carefully.

Molly lifted an eyebrow. "I would say that I'd like you to elaborate on what you mean."

Mycroft briefly smiled. "What I mean…Given my position in the British government, which I'm sure my dear brother has made no secret to you, I am obligated to attend this ball. However, I am in need of a partner for it." His look asked the question he was asking her.

Molly's eyes widened once she understood that. "_Me? _But…I…"

Mycroft interrupted her by holding up a finger. "Before you list all of the objections that are going through your mind, let me put them at ease. I know that your shift ends at noon today, giving you the entire afternoon to prepare. I can have Anthea escort you to several boutiques and salons, where she can help you find something perfect for you, since you have no experience of anything so formal. The costs you needn't worry about, for I will cover them. Consider it part of my gratitude for saving my brother's life.

"I know that you will not know any of the guests apart from the four we mutually know, but do not worry: I will be there to guide you through each introduction and encounter should you feel you need it.

"As for my intentions…I do not ask out of pity, for pity is a base emotion I would never feel for someone that is…of importance. And I also would not ask you if I did not believe with utter surety that what my darling brother said about you was completely and utterly false."

Safe to say this speech left Molly quite speechless. His tone was sincere, as was the look in his eyes. Though Molly knew that the clever Holmes men could easily manipulate almost anybody through deception, Molly's gut feeling told her that nothing like that was going on. He certainly had covered each of her objections and doubts, except for…

"Mycroft…are you sure? Wouldn't it be better for you to have a partner there who is at your…well, your level?"

It was Mycroft's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Level? Care to elaborate what you mean?"

"Well…" said Molly, lowering her gaze as her neck burned in embarrassment. "I mean, intelligence level, government level, class level...importance level…"

Her gaze was on her hands, which she was wringing in her lap. But when a large, pale, elegant and long-fingered hand stilled them by covering them both, Molly's head immediately lifted. The gentleness of his gaze and smile caused Molly's heart to skip a beat.

"My dear Molly…nobody expects my partner to be on my intelligence level because frankly…well, you know what I mean. The same applies for the government level. Class? While many of tonight's crowd carry the snobbery of their ancestors, I do not."

He paused, and Molly felt his thumb move back and forth once across the back of her hand. She felt goose bumps rise on her arms. When he resumed speaking, his voice was quite soft.

"And I assure you, Molly…your importance level not only meets but exceeds many who will be there."

_Please, heart, quiet down, he's _got _to be able to hear this pounding…_

She watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed before pulling his hand away and sitting up straight. Molly couldn't help but let out a long exhale as she herself sat back, for it felt like she could suddenly breath again.

The sound of a vibrating mobile broke the tension, and Mycroft swiftly pulled his own out of his inside jacket pocket. He read the text he'd been sent, sighed, and stood up. "I'm afraid I must go now. Emergency meeting with North Korea that cannot be delayed any further."

"Oh," said Molly, standing up as he put his coat on. "Well, good luck with that."

Mycroft chuckled and faced her again. "So…do you accept my offer, Molly?" He held out his hand and caught her gaze again.

Though Molly still felt nowhere near as confident about this as she wished she could be about this, she knew in her gut that there was only one answer she could give.

Molly placed her hand in his and said, "Yes, Mycroft, I accept."

The smile he gave now was the biggest and brightest she had ever seen from him.

She expected him to shake her hand, but instead brought hers up elegantly and kissed it gently. "Until tonight, then…" he said before walking out of the café, leaving a speechless Molly standing before the fire. After a moment, she collapsed back into her chair, her jaw still hanging open. Eventually, she was able to break her shock by laughing a bit breathlessly. The first thought that entered her mind couldn't help but be tinged with girlish excitement.

_Wow…I'm really going to a ball!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

As Anthea finished applying her make-up, Molly concentrated on making her breaths deep and even. Her eyes were firmly shut, and in her mind ran a mantra of positive and encouraging thoughts in an attempt to calm the butterflies in her stomach. Unfortunately, their effect was below average at best and completely useless at the worst. Her forearms and hands, which were sheathed in beautiful white gloves that fit perfectly, rested in her lap; her hands were holding onto each other tightly.

"All done," Molly heard Anthea say, and she slowly opened her eyes. The PA had her signature Mona Lisa smile on her lips, but her dark eyes gave away her delight and satisfaction.

A distant knock made Molly jump a bit in her seated position on her bed, but Anthea's smile grew to a real one. "Right on time," she said, standing up from the vanity stool she had been sitting on. "I'll go and let him in. Then I'll come back and fetch you. In the meantime, take a look at yourself. Not even you will be able to deny Sherlock is wrong."

With that, Anthea left her bedroom, leaving the door open just a bit. Molly took a deep breath, stood up, and walked to the full-length mirror on the other side of her bedroom. When her reflection came into view, Molly had to hold out her arms in case she stumbled from surprise, but thankfully she didn't. Her heels were only two inches high and quite comfortable, hidden from view under her full-length skirt.

_Is that really me? _

Her gown – yes, it was no dress, it was a real _gown_ – was more beautiful than even her best childhood daydreams could conjure. The fabric was a deep burgundy red, the color of her favorite sweet wine. The design of the gown was a modernized version of Belle's ball gown, with off-the-shoulder straps, a corseted top, and a voluminous skirt she knew would twirl so prettily if she danced tonight…

An image of herself dancing with Mycroft flashed across her mind's eye, and her cheeks turned pink. She shook her head a bit, her gloved fingers absently tracing the flowery pattern embroidered in the bodice in silver thread.

She lifted her gaze again, and had to resist the urge to play with her hair, which she thought never looked so lovely. Normally, it was something she had to get out of the way for work, always keeping it in a ponytail, bun, or braid. Now, after it had been given the top salon treatment, her side-parted hair hung in loose and luxuriant curls down her back. Anthea had kept her make-up minimal, which relieved her. Her jewelry was minimal and simple, but it was all her own and very precious to her.

A soft knock on her bedroom door startled Molly again, and she turned to see Anthea poking her head in with an excited grin on her face. "Come on, Molly. He's here."

Molly was sure that her gulp was audible before she shakily nodded. Once Anthea had disappeared, Molly took a moment to herself and closed her eyes. She prayed a quick and desperate prayer that she would survive the all-seeing and mercilessly-deducing gaze of the man who was waiting for her to come out. Opening her eyes, Molly squared her shoulders and walked out of her bedroom.

When she came into her sitting room, Molly spotted Mycroft Holmes standing at her window, his tall and elegant figure like a shadow because of the long black cape he wore over his white-tail ensemble. Molly couldn't help but notice that the style suited him perfectly, and it caused the butterflies in her stomach to flutter even more rapidly. When her footsteps ceased, he turned to look at her.

Molly was glad that her hands were folded together in front of her, for she knew that they would be shaking otherwise. She felt every nerve in her body light up, as well as every inch of her skin heat up, as that signature Holmes gaze took her in. Her greatest instinct was to make a run for it back to the sanctuary of her bedroom, but Molly refused to even consider that possibility. So she stood firm and as tall as the petite woman could, refusing to look away from him as he scrutinized her. At least, that's what she was quite sure he was doing.

The idea that he could be admiring her, drinking in the sight of her, even adoring her…such a possibility never crossed her mind.

When he caught her gaze again, Mycroft approached her with a smile on his lips. This would have frightened Molly, but his eyes were glowing with soft kindness. It made her heart pound even as it calmed her butterflies somewhat. When he stopped in front of her, he reached out a hand and lightly dragged his fingers down Molly's gloved forearm and wrist. When he came to her hand, his fingers lightly, almost shyly, clasped her own. His gaze never left hers.

"So…" he said, his tone matching his eyes. "_This _is Molly Hooper."

Of all the things that Molly had thought Mycroft Holmes might say, this was _not _one of them. She wanted to deny it, say that he was giving her false flattery, that this couldn't possibly be a true reflection of her because she had _never _dressed like this before. But all such remarks were lost as she looked into his eyes. If there was one thing Molly could do, it was know whether someone was lying to her, even if it was a Holmes. And she sensed no lie whatsoever in him now.

So, all that Molly could do was blush the color of her dress and lower her head to their hands. She still wanted to deny it in some way, but since she couldn't seem to find her voice at the moment, all poor Molly could do was shake her head a bit.

Her pounding heart nearly stopped when Mycroft lifted his free hand and cupped her chin, lifting her face up to meet his eyes again. His expression was both kind and serious now. "You have nothing to fear, Molly."

Again, Molly wanted to argue in some way – truly, she didn't want to seem unreasonable or obstinate, but how could she honestly believe what he was saying when she had done _nothing _like this before? – but again found that she couldn't. He seemed so calm and sure of her. So, all Molly could really do was gulp and nod a bit. She wasn't agreeing with him, necessarily, but she would certainly try.

He smiled at her again, but then he blushed a bit as he broke contact and stepped away from her. "I'll fetch your wrap," he said.

Once he had walked away, Molly let out a big breath that she hadn't been aware she had been holding in. She put her fingers to her cheeks, wishing the gloves weren't there because she knew her fingertips would be cool. Her mind was whirling, asking herself what was going on. Why did this man, whom she barely knew, have such an affect on her? More importantly, why was this man – this highly important, distinguished and intelligent man – singling _her_ out?

"Molly?"

She was brought out of her train of thought by his voice, and saw him standing some distance from her, holding out the long black wrap that she would wear over her dress, like a Victorian cape. Sensitive as Molly was when it came to such things, the only way she could describe the aura emanating from him was – could it be true? – nervous. Even though his face didn't show it, his eyes and aura did, and it calmed Molly's nerves more than anything else had today.

With a soft smile, Molly walked towards him and turned, helping him drape the wrap around her. "Thank you," she murmured, turning her head to look at him with a small smile. His cheeks had a touch of pink to them as he returned her smile.

A soft clearing of the throat caused the both of them to turn their heads towards Molly's front door. There stood Anthea, her blackberry in her pocket for once as she watched them. Molly blushed, realizing she had completely forgotten about her since stepping into her sitting room.

The PA had a smile on her face that could only be described as satisfied. "It's time."

* * *

At first, the ride from Molly's flat to the ball (Molly really couldn't call it anything else, considering the gown she was wearing) was spent in silence. Anthea sat next to the driver up front, while Mycroft sat in the back of the elegant black car beside her.

Her hands wringing in her lap, Molly tried to distract herself by watching the city go by out of her window. But when that didn't work, she cleared her throat awkwardly and asked Mycroft even more awkwardly, "So…um…w-where exactly is this…event?"

Mycroft almost winced before answering her, as if he knew how she would react to it. "Buckingham Palace."

Molly's eyes widened. "So, this is a…um…a _royal _event?" Her voice was an embarrassing squeak, and she wanted to just melt into the expensive leather seat.

"In a manner of speaking, since the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge are hosting the event," replied Mycroft calmly, but watching her carefully.

"Oh," was all Molly could squeak out before clasping her hands so tightly she was sure the blood flow to her fingers had stopped.

"May I ask you something, Molly?"

Having no idea what to expect, and eager for any distraction from her ever-growing terror, Molly turned her head to look at him and nodded.

"Will you tell me about your jewelry?" he asked gently.

Surprised, Molly found her voice again. "Why ask when you can just deduce?"

"First of all, that would be incredibly rude behavior towards someone whose company I am finding quite enjoyable. Second of all, unlike my brother, I am quite lazy when it comes to the skills of deduction my brother prizes beyond anything else. Thirdly, I would much rather hear it from you." He raised a hand to her forehead, briefly touching the circlet that rested across it and through her head. "This, in particular."

Molly blushed as he lowered his hand. Around her neck was a simple string of pearls and her earrings were simple teardrop pearls; both matched the pearl in the center of the circlet she wore, which was delicate and made of swirling and intertwining strands of silver. "They were my grandmother's. She left them for me when she passed away. She knew how much I loved to look at them, especially the circlet. I thought it was a crown, and she would call me her princess."

She expected to feel embarrassed, sharing such an intimate childhood memory with a man she couldn't picture as a child to save her life, but she didn't. On the contrary, her heart began to pound again as Mycroft looked at her the same way he had when she'd come into the sitting room.

The spell was broken when the car began to slow, and looking out of the window, Molly saw that the car had passed through the now open gates to Buckingham Palace. She was grateful that it had joined a long queue approaching the entrance, giving her some time to gather her nerve.

When she felt something warm covering her clenched hands, Molly looked down to see it was Mycroft's own much larger hand. Looking at him, she took comfort in the warmth coming from blue eyes she knew were usually ice cold. "I know that this will sound like terrible advice usually given to misbehaving children, but you needn't speak unless you're spoken to."

Understanding what he meant, Molly sighed in relief. "That _will _make things much easier, thanks. And…" Her cheeks flamed for what felt like the hundredth time in the last hour. "You'll…be there?"

His hand had somehow worked its way between her own. "Of course I will."

He meant it, and Molly believed him. "Thank you, Mycroft," she said, giving him a soft smile.

Mycroft did not let go of Molly's hand until he had placed it in the crook of his elbow before leading her inside Buckingham Palace for the ball.

* * *

**A/N: **_Hello, Mollcroft fans! Hope you're still sticking with me! Nearly twenty reviews for the first chapter has given me lots and lots of good feels! Next chapter will have plenty of drama, some good and some bad. Good because Molly and Mycroft are attending a ball that involves dancing, and bad because a certain consulting detective is about to be proven very wrong. And we all know what happens when Sherlock loses at anything…_


	3. Chapter 3

**Three**

"Oh, I wish I was Emma right now," John said to himself as he looked around the epitome of grand opulence that was Buckingham Palace.

Mary chuckled, squeezing his arm. "Why? Because she's asleep right now?"

"That, and if she shit herself, people think it's cute."

They both laughed even as Mary slapped his arm.

"Honestly, John, this isn't your first time visiting Buckingham Palace," said Sherlock, who stood next to the married pair with Janine on his arm. "And this time, we are both appropriately dressed."

The boys exchanged a snicker over the hilarious memory involving a bed sheet, a stolen ashtray, and a _very _annoyed elder brother. Mary merely rolled her eyes and, when Janine raised her eyebrow curiously, she merely said, "Don't ask."

The group of four had arrived together not too long ago, and so far were sticking to themselves in a sea of ball gowns and white-ties. Both Sherlock and John looked dashing in their white-ties ensembles, and their ladies looked equally as stunning in their gowns, Mary in sea foam green and Janine in vibrant magenta. After the entire Magnussen business, neither the Watsons nor Sherlock thought that Janine would want anything more to do with any of them. But Janine had hated Magnussen as much, if not more, than them, and frankly, she was grateful that, unlike Sherlock, she had avoided a bullet to the chest.

"So, Sherl, what about that one?" asked Janine conspiratorially, discreetly pointing to a gentleman in a group nearby.

Sherlock immediately went into deducing mode and the two delved into a hushed conversation and commentary. John turned his attention back to his wife, the sight of whom he could not get enough of tonight. "Please tell me you're just as freaked out as I am right now," he murmured.

Mary laughed and kissed his cheek. "Of course I am, but my excitement is more strong. I mean, can you _believe _this? Attending an effing _ball _in effing _Buckingham Palace_, John! This is the stuff that dreams are –" She stopped talking when her eyes fell on the grand red-velvet covered staircase, and her eyes widened as her jaw dropped in a gasp.

"Mary, what –" John began, but when he saw what Mary was now gawping at, he shut up and gawped, too.

At the head of the staircase stood a very elegant and stunning couple, the man in perfect white-tie ensemble helping to take off the long black wrap around the woman, revealing a gorgeous burgundy gown. But it wasn't the clothing that had both Watsons in shock – it was the two people wearing them that they had least expected to see _together. Ever._

"Oh, my goodness…" gasped Mary.

"Holy mother…" John slowly said.

This was all the couple could say as they watched the man hand off their outer wraps to a footman and offering his arm to the lady. She took it, and they shared what could only be a smile.

"John? Mary? What on Earth are you two gawping like codfish at? Really, it's not a becoming look on either of –"

Both Watsons turned their heads to look at Sherlock when his voice had, like theirs had, abruptly faded. They saw that he had spotted exactly what had made them resemble codfish, for the look he now wore on his face was the very definition of, to put it nicely, 'completely gob-smacked.' Around them, John and Mary could hear appreciative murmurs and exclamations about the couple that had just arrived.

Janine's reaction to spotting the couple on the stairs was nothing like the reactions of Sherlock, John, and Mary. "Oh, is that Myc?" she said, her face lighting up in a bright smile. "Sherl, why didn't you tell me your brother had a lady friend? And a lovely one, at that!"

She slapped his arm playfully, but Sherlock didn't seem to feel it. He still stood there with his mouth open and his eyes wide, staring at the couple slowly coming down the staircase.

"Oh, um, that's actually our good friend, Molly Hooper," said John, who had managed to find his voice again, but again lost it when he saw Mycroft cover the hand Molly had settled in the crook of his arm.

"Yes," said Mary, managing to speak (squeak, really) through her heightened shock. "She was at our wedding, Janine, so I'm sure you two met. Do you remember?"

Janine squinted at the pair for a moment more, and then her eyes widened as she gasped. "Oh, my GOD! _That's _the same woman who wore that odd yellow dress with the big bow in her hair? My God! Good thing she didn't dress like _that _at the wedding, or she'd have outshined us both!"

Now that Mycroft and Molly had finished descending the stairs, and were blocked from view by the couples who were clamoring to greet them, neither John nor Mary could resist looking at Sherlock again. He had not moved, and his expression had not changed. John had told his wife what Sherlock had said about Molly just that morning, so when they looked at each other, it took every drop of will-power they had not to burst into very undignified laughter.

_Thank God there is a God! _thought John in absolute glee.

* * *

"Wow…" Molly breathed after the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge had moved down the line after greeting her and Mycroft.

She heard an amused chuckle next to her, and she dearly wished that she could elbow his side, but such an action in this environment Molly wouldn't dream of even trying. But when she felt a large hand wrap around her own and hold it securely, she quite forgot about her awe in favor of the heat now pooling in her cheeks. That heat crept down her neck as Molly felt her own fingers lace with his. This act was hidden from view behind the folds of her gown's skirt, but truth be told, neither of them would truly care if the action were spotted.

After the royal couple had gone down the line of guests, the conductor of the small orchestra on the other side of the grand ballroom took his place and announced that the dancing would now begin with a waltz. As the first strands of lovely music filled the vast room, the royal couple walked to the middle of the floor and began a perfect waltz.

Several moments later, Molly felt more than heard Mycroft whisper in her ear: "Shall we join them?"

Her eyes widened and she turned her head to look at him. "_What_? Isn't there some sort of…order to this?"

Mycroft chuckled through his upturned lips. "After the guests of honor begin the dance, the order doesn't matter in the slightest. And once a second couple joins, the others will follow suit. So, shall we be brave?"

His eyes and small smile held an amusement that was almost tender, but beneath that Molly could see a firm reassurance that she would be safe with him. Deciding to be brave, Molly nodded and took his arm. He smiled, and they broke from the safety of the line onto the exposure of the floor. Molly instantly felt all eyes descend upon them, but Molly's impulse to run or disappear was strongly overshadowed by her partner's calm reassurance which she could feel radiating off him.

When he stood in front of her and gently guided their hands to the proper position, Molly quietly stuttered, "I'm, um, not very…it's been a while since I've…properly danced." She gulped as Mycroft's right hand firmly but gently gripped her waist.

"You know the steps, Molly," he said softly. "Just keep your eyes up and let me take the lead."

Molly nodded, and their dance began.

Perhaps it was the gaze he held hers in, or the beautiful music, or the fairytale-like setting, or how quickly the steps became familiar to her…whatever the reason, Molly soon felt everything and everyone surrounding them disappear. She didn't see the royal couple shoot them appreciative looks, or the other guests start murmuring in excitement and curiosity, even as they joined in the dancing. She didn't see the Watsons watch them with expressions of pure shock and delight. She didn't see Janine's impressed and gleeful expression, or Sherlock's gob smacked and furious one.

The only expression that Molly saw or even cared about was that of her dance partner. That same reassurance and tenderness was there, along with other things that Molly wasn't ready to define. All she knew was that it made her heart pound, and gave her the impression that she was in trouble…perhaps even the kind that involved...falling.

* * *

**A/N: **_This one was a bit shorter than my last two, but I hope it still satisfied. The next one will have Molly interact with some guests, including a consulting detective whom I would compare to a ticking time bomb…_


	4. Chapter 4

**Four**

Any little girl who grows up with the story of Cinderella dreams of being the belle of the ball. Even if she dreams that for only one fleeting moment, and even if the only ball she will ever attend is a school dance, that wish is there. For Molly Hooper, who had always preferred _Beauty and the Beast _stories to the _Cinderella _ones, she never dreamed that this little daydream would ever have the slightest possibility of becoming a reality. Now, in Buckingham Palace, that dream was coming true.

_Any minute now, I'll wake up, _thought Molly every few minutes. She thought of how, when you dream, it seems like reality until you spot something that you know doesn't belong there. _Why is Gran here? She died last year…Why is she driving a garbage truck? She's a midwife from the fifties…Why am I at a ball? I'm a commoner at best…_Then the dream would fade, no matter how hard you tried to keep it alive, like trying to keep sand in a sieve.

So far, no such moment had arrived for Molly, but she certainly wasn't foolish enough to believe that it couldn't come at any moment.

* * *

After several dances and being introduced to many of the people Mycroft knew, Molly quietly told him she needed to powder her nose. Truth be told, Molly didn't really need to use the restroom; what she needed was a few moments alone to recharge a bit. Smiling in understanding, Mycroft had given her directions to the nearest powder room, and she'd squeezed his hand in silent thanks before excusing herself from the group they had joined.

Once she had turned the corner into the hallway, out of sight from the ballroom, Molly paused and took a deep breath, her hand pressing to her chest. It wasn't that she wasn't having a good time, because she really was. But being an introvert, occasions like this which involved lots of people were draining for Molly. A few minutes to herself were needed to recharge her batteries a bit.

Molly began to walk slowly down the grand hallway, admiring the gilded decorations and imposing portraits. But before she could enter the powder room, a hand wrapped around her forearm and jerked her to a stop. Turning around, Molly's fright instantly calmed when she saw Mary Watson beaming at her, with her husband standing beside her looking equally happy. "Oh, hello!" Molly managed to say.

"_Oh, hello, _is that all you can say?" squealed Mary, grabbing her hands and stepping back to look at her fully. "Oh, my God, Molly! Look at you!"

At that, Molly couldn't help it: she burst into giggles right along with Mary. "I know, I know, I can't believe it!"

After the two women had hugged, John stepped forward and kissed Molly's cheeks. "Molly, I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you like this."

Molly smiled at John in understanding. "It's okay, John. I overheard you and Sherlock this morning, and believe me, I'm just as happy as you."

Guilt, embarrassment and anger briefly crossed John's face at Molly's words, but then he smirked. "It's always a lovely day when the great consulting detective realizes he can still be a complete and utter idiot."

All three shared a laugh, even as Molly looked over John's shoulder in slight fear.

"Don't worry, Molly," said Mary, who had spotted her looking. "He's not with us. Come on, let's go freshen up."

"I'll go make sure he hasn't started any wars," said John, squeezing Molly's hand with a smile before walking away.

The two women entered the powder room to find that another person was inside.

"Hey, Mary," said Janine, her eyes moving from one woman to the next as her eyes widened. "Oh, wow, you're Molly! I'm Janine O'Haloran, we met briefly at the wedding. You look absolutely gorgeous, I'm so jealous!"

"Oh, um, thank you," said Molly a bit awkwardly as Janine hugged her.

All three women went to the long mirror and marble sinks. Janine reached into her handbag to touch up their make-up, saying, "It's so nice to see Myc get himself a girl. Good on you, Molly!"

Molly's eyebrows shot up faster than the speed of light. "_Myc_? You call him _Myc_?"

"Yeah," said Janine merrily with a shrug. "He hates it, but Sherl gets a kick out of it. Just kind of stuck."

_Sherl? _Molly had to cover her mouth to prevent a snort coming out. Looking at Mary, she saw that the good doctor's wife was holding back laughter, too. But she soon regained her composure and faced Molly. "John told me what Sherlock said about you this morning, the stupid prick. I'm so sorry."

"What did he say?" asked Janine in curious concern.

Mary rolled her eyes. "Basically that Molly wasn't at all capable of looking beautiful or glamorous."

Janine's eyes blazed in indignation. "_What? _Look at her! No wonder he looked so shocked when he saw you two. And he calls himself a genius."

"Now, tell me everything," said Mary, turning Molly around so she faced her. "Every detail, don't leave anything out."

"Yeah, I've got to hear this!" said Janine, moving to stand by Mary in front of Molly.

The young pathologist, after taking a minute to find her voice standing in the eager gazes of these two women, told them all that had happened after she'd overheard that horrible conversation between Sherlock and John. By the end of her story, both of her listeners were containing squeals and nearly jumping up and down.

"Oh my God, Molly!" exclaimed Mary, grabbing her hands. "He really likes you!"

"W-what?" Molly stammered, a nervous laugh escaping her at such a thought. "N-no, Mary, he's just doing me a favor. Helping me to give Sherlock a taste of his own medicine."

"Oh, please, girl!" said Janine, rolling her eyes. "If that was all it was, you two wouldn't look so perfect together when you danced."

It took all of Molly's willpower to keep from asking '_really?_' and say instead, "It's…it's really not like that, girls, I…he…he doesn't want any kind of romantic attachment, least of all with me."

"Then answer me one question, Molly," said Mary. "Why did Mycroft ask to have coffee with you if he didn't know what you'd overheard Sherlock say?"

The longer Molly's silence lasted as she tried to find an answer, the bigger Mary's pleased smile grew.

"Come on, ladies," said Janine, closing her handbag again. "Let's rejoin the party before we're missed."

Mary linked arms with a still-silent Molly, and they followed Janine back into the hallway. As they slowly walked, Mary softly whispered to Molly, "Just talk to him, Molly, and don't be scared."

Molly prayed that she would have the courage to follow this advice when the opportunity presented itself.

* * *

"Ah, thank you, Dr. Watson!" said Mycroft, smiling at Molly once he saw her.

John had met the three women as they re-entered the ballroom, and offered to waltz Molly across the dance floor to the other side of the wide room, where Mycroft was speaking to an elegant and elderly couple.

"No problem, Mycroft," said John, giving Molly's hand to Mycroft, who immediately tucked it into his arm. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I owe my wife another dance." He gave Molly a grin and the other three people a nod before walking away.

"Mr. and Mrs. Ebersole, may I introduce Miss Molly Hooper," Mycroft said to the couple he was speaking to. He sounded as if he was introducing the queen herself.

"A pleasure, my dear," said Mr. Ebersole, taking Molly's hand and kissing it.

After Mrs. Ebersole kissed her cheeks, she said, "Dear Mycroft has spoken most highly of you."

"Oh, thank you," said Molly, surprised and blushing.

A new and lively waltz began, and Mr. Ebersole smiled at Mycroft. "May I steal your young lady for a dance, Mycroft?"

"One dance, yes," said Mycroft. "I believe I owe your lovely wife one, as well."

With that, partners were exchanged and the four of them walked onto the semi-crowded dance floor. Mr. Ebersole was soon leading her in a waltz, a spring in his step that had to be at least twenty years younger than he was.

"I do hope that young man is behaving himself," he said good-naturedly.

"Oh, don't worry, he's being a perfect gentleman," replied Molly honestly.

"Good," said Mr. Ebersole. "I'd expect nothing less from him."

"How do you know Mycroft, may I ask?"

"Of course you can, my dear!" he laughed. "I've known his mother for years, being of a mathematical disposition like herself. I have been a member of the Diogenes Club for years. It was I who referred him for membership." He paused. "I must say, Miss Hooper, when my wife and I saw you arrive with him, we were as pleased as punch. He usually attends these events alone, and he's been alone for much too long."

Molly's only response was to blush modestly. But before she could say anything in reply, another voice made them come to a stop in their dance.

"Excuse me, may I please cut in?"

Molly's insides froze, recognizing the voice instantly. Sure enough, when she turned her head, there stood Sherlock. He was the picture of a polite gentleman, but Molly knew better when she saw how rigidly his shoulders were set.

"Ah, Mr. Holmes the younger!" said Mr. Ebersole good-naturedly. "You must be as tall as your brother now! Of course you may." He shook Sherlock's hand and kissed Molly's cheek before weaving his way through the dancers and out of sight.

Without a word, Sherlock stepped up to Molly, took her hand and waist none too gracefully, and immediately led her in a waltz that would have knocked a complete amateur on their bum. Thankfully, Molly was quite confident in her dancing skills now, after Mycroft had built up her confidence. In fact, it seemed he had built up her confidence in everything else exponentially. The only nervousness Molly felt now was that Sherlock may create some sort of a scene by throwing a tantrum; she feared nothing that might come out of his mouth, as she once would have. It was the greatest and most joyful relief she'd ever felt.

For a minute, Sherlock just led her in an almost aggressive waltz while he glared at her. Molly, not feeling intimidated at all, fought the urge to roll her eyes and said, "If you have something to say to me, then say it, Sherlock. My patience is limited."

Blinking in surprise at Molly's calm and strong attitude, which he'd only seen once when she'd slapped him for getting high, Sherlock replied pettily, "What are you doing here?"

"Mycroft invited me."

"Why?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, what else is a big brother for than to prove that they're smarter than their little brother?" Molly replied easily, inwardly rejoicing at how confidently she could speak to him now. _Not that hard, since he's behaving like a child. _"He knew you were wrong about me, just like I did. I'd like an apology, by the way."

"An _apology_?" Sherlock asked, as if she'd requested him to shoot John in the back. "You expect me to_ apologize _to you?"

"You've done it before, you can do it again," said Molly quietly. When Sherlock couldn't reply to that, she continued on courageously as their waltz continued. "You should know better by now than to underestimate me or misjudge me, Sherlock. I'm disappointed that, after everything I've done and helped you achieve, you still choose to see me as nothing more than a mousy pathologist who would let you treat her like a doormat and thinks the world revolves around you. So if you're angry, Sherlock, it's _your _fault, _not _mine."

What happened next Molly hadn't predicted at all, but sincerely wished that she had. Sherlock's face became enraged, and she felt his foot hook around her right ankle. In the next moment, he'd turned them and let her go, and Molly could find nothing to stop her fall. And fall she did as she felt her ankle give a sharp and very painful twist. With an exclamation of pain, she landed on her stomach, her hands preventing her landing on her face, which was burning in absolute humiliation.

Molly heard the ballroom become deathly silent; even the music had stopped. Though she felt piercing pain in her right ankle, Molly bit her lip and stayed silent. She kept her gaze down as she felt every other gaze fall upon her, staring at the floor as tears blurred her vision and burned her eyes. And all she could think was repeated over and over in her mind:

_Let me wake up now…let me wake up now…please…_

* * *

**A/N: **_Sorry guys, I warned you Sherlock wouldn't have a good reaction. As Moffat and Cumberbatch said in an interview about Sherlock killing Magnussen: He lost so he kicked over the chessboard. This is what he's doing here, unfortunately for Molly. Don't fret too much, though, dears. Do you think Mycroft would let his brother get away with treating her in such a way?_


	5. Chapter 5

**Five**

"_Molly?_"

The sound of familiar voice saying her name, so rich with worry, fear, and shock, was what finally made the pathologist lift her head up. Her brown eyes immediately met the blue eyes of Mycroft, and her breath caught in her throat. Never had she seen so much emotion on this face that almost always served as a mask. He was crouching beside her, his hands outstretched as if he didn't know what the best thing was to do with them.

"Can you stand?" he asked, almost tentatively.

The sight of Mycroft Holmes, a man whom Molly Hooper never thought she would see look anything less than perfectly composed, seemed to break through her numb shock. "Yes," she replied in a hollow voice.

Carefully, she lifted herself and, one at a time, she lifted her hands and placed them in his own. He stood slowly and pulled her up, maintaining eye contact so she would not have to look around her; she could already feel their burning stares. Molly carefully lifted her left foot and put her weight on it, and felt no pain as she rose to stand. But when she tried to put weight on her right foot, a horrible pain shot through her ankle, causing Molly to give a cry of pain that echoed harshly in the huge ballroom. She would have stumbled and lost her balance had Mycroft not steadied her and she hadn't landed her hands on his chest. Molly barely heard the shocked gasps and concerned murmurs around her.

"What the blazes happened?"

"Molly, sweetie, are you all right?"

"Oh God, have you broken something?"

Molly opened her watering eyes, turning her head to see Janine, Mary and John, whose expressions mirrored Mycroft's. And just behind them she saw Sherlock, who was looking at her with a clenched jaw and shocked eyes. Feeling bile rise up in her throat, Molly turned her head and lowered it, shutting her eyes tight to stop the sobs of pain and humiliation that so wanted to break free.

Footsteps approached her, and Molly knew it was Sherlock before she heard him say, "Molly, I –"

But he got no further, and Molly felt one of Mycroft's hands leave her. Opening her eyes, Molly saw that the two brothers were standing almost nose to nose. Mycroft's fingers were pushing against Sherlock's chest, as if he had stopped him from coming closer to Molly. Her breath caught at the expression on Mycroft's face. His face was shining with pure rage and disgust, so much that Molly had the urge to flinch. _No wonder this country is wrapped around his finger, _she thought absently.

In a soft voice that matched his expression nonetheless, Mycroft practically growled: "_**Very**__ unwise, brother mine._"

Sherlock said nothing, but visibly gulped. The fear in his eyes was plain for Molly to see, even if it only appeared for a moment.

Without taking his eyes off his brother, as though breaking the gaze would make the younger man bolt, Mycroft spoke clearly, quietly and authoritatively:

"Miss O'Haloran, please help me escort Dr. Hooper somewhere more private, so her ankle can be attended to. Dr. and Mrs. Watson, I hate to ask you to leave now, but I must ask you to escort my _darling brother _out of here quietly; he's caused more than enough damage. I shall deal with him _later._"

"Of course," murmured Mary, stepping up to Sherlock and linking her arm through his in a vice grip. John clapped his hand on Sherlock's shoulder in a similar vice grip. Sherlock ripped his gaze from his brother to Molly, his frightened gaze selfishly saying, _You would really let them do this to me?_

But Molly, feeling bile rise in her throat again, quickly turned her head away from him. How dare he think that she would just brush this aside? That she would be his doormat even when he'd done _this_? She barely heard the three sets of footsteps walk away.

Mycroft came to Molly's side, wrapping a supporting arm around her waist and taking her hand with his free one. Instinctively, Molly leaned against him for support. She felt Janine take her other hand and arm for support, and they slowly helped her off the dance floor and out of the ball room. The walk seemed to take forever, with so many stares on her and the pain in her ankle. So she kept her eyes down, concentrated on each difficult step, and took comfort in the support on either side of her.

Finally, they had entered a room just off the ballroom, and the door shut behind them. Molly finally lifted her eyes to see that they had entered a tiny parlor, full of elegant flowers and plush furniture. Gently, Mycroft and Janine helped Molly over to the long sofa and lowered her down until she was seated across it comfortably, even in her ball gown.

A footman entered the room, as if on cue, and Mycroft immediately ordered: "Please bring ice and gauze bandages for Dr. Hooper immediately."

"Yes, sir," said the footman, who left through another door as quickly as he had come.

As Janine put some pillows behind Molly's back for support, Mycroft put one under her ankle, seating himself on the other side of the sofa so her feet were almost on his lap. But before he touched her himself, he looked at her and asked, "May I?"

Blushing a bit, Molly nodded, touched that he was asking permission.

Carefully, Mycroft removed her low-heeled slipper from her foot, and gingerly examined the swollen ankle. His brow furrowed, and his touch was exceedingly gentle. Molly never winced in pain once. "Thank goodness you were not wearing a higher heel, Molly," he said, looking at her ankle. "The bone isn't broken, from what I can tell, you've just sprained the ankle."

Molly craned her neck so she could look at it herself. "Yes, I think you're right. I'd feel more pain if it were broken."

"If it were broken, you'd probably be crying uncontrollably," said Janine conversationally. "I broke my leg when I was a teenager. Hands down, the worst pain I've ever felt. Not even when Mary knocked me out in Magnussen's office was the pain that bad, but then again, I _was _knocked unconscious so I didn't feel anything for very long."

Neither Molly nor Mycroft quite knew what to say in response to that. Thankfully, the footman returned at that moment, with a bag of ice in one hand and a large roll of gauze in the other.

"Bring them here, thank you," said Mycroft, indicated the coffee table by the sofa. The footman obeyed, left the room, and Mycroft turned to Janine. "Miss O'Haloran, I realize that when the Watsons left with my brother, that left you here unaccompanied, and I apologize for that."

"Oh, don't worry about that, Myc," said Janine, waving his apology aside. "I'd just be in the way if I went with them. Not sure which Watson wants to give him a worse kick in the arse, but it's probably better there are no witnesses."

Mycroft gave her a wry smile before speaking again. "I would be much obliged if you would accompany Molly home after I see to her ankle. I'd gladly provide a car to take you to her residence and then yours. Unfortunately, I need to stay a bit longer and speak to a few people before I can leave."

"No problem," said Janine. "It's probably best if a woman helps her home. Getting out of a ball gown with a sprained ankle is no easy task to accomplish alone."

Both Mycroft and Molly blushed hearing that, averting their gazes from each other. Janine, seeing this, grinned to herself and walked to the door. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to close the deal on my best prospect before leaving tonight. I'll be ready to go when you are." With a wink at Molly, she left the room and rejoined the party.

Molly sighed in relief as Mycroft rested the bag of ice on her sprained ankle. He then removed his jacket and proceeded to unroll the gauze. As he wrapped it securely around her ankle and foot, he kept his gaze on his task and didn't say a word. Feeling tension in the air, Molly tried to ease it with a compliment.

"You're quite good at that," she said before cringing. Who knows what can of worms she could open with that remark…

But she saw Mycroft's lips quirk upward as he worked. "Not by choice, I'm afraid. Growing up, I often had to play nurse to Sherlock when he got into a scrape, since Mummy would fuss more than help and Father would be working…" His voice faded and his face lost any humor. He completed his task in silence, tying off the gauze which was now wrapped securely around the sprained limb, and placed the ice there again.

Not liking the tension rise again, Molly sat up a bit and asked, "What is it?"

Mycroft finally made eye contact with her, and the pained look in his eyes caused Molly's breath to catch. "Molly…I am so sorry."

The young pathologist felt her heart break a little at this. "Mycroft, this wasn't your fault."

"I should have gotten to you sooner, I should have known that Sherlock might do something like this –"

"You could never have known that Sherlock would do something like this!"

"Yes, I should have! My little brother is what most people would call a 'sore loser.' A juvenile term, but appropriate for a true juvenile. Moriarty, Magnussen, even playing a game with me, he would never accept he was wrong before throwing a terrible tantrum."

"Mycroft, stop! You are not responsible for your brother's actions. Perhaps that was true when you were children, and you had to look after him, but you're both adults now, whether or not he acts like one. Please don't feel that you always have to clean up his messes for him; it's not your burden to bear anymore. This is _not _your fault, and not for _one moment _have I thought so."

Molly spoke these words with such conviction that Mycroft had looked at her with both surprise and great hope. She kept her gaze locked with his, willing him to believe her. Finally, he seemed to relax, so Molly did too.

"Is there much pain, Molly?" Mycroft gently asked, holding the ice to her ankle. His free hand was absently caressing her foot, and it made Molly's skin tingle.

She shook her head. "It's much better now. As long as I don't put weight on it, I'm sure I'll be back to normal in a few weeks."

Mycroft nodded and looked back down again. Remembering the conversation she'd had with Mary and Janine in the ladies' room not long ago, Molly took a deep breath. "Mycroft, may I ask you a question?"

He looked back up at her, curious. "Of course, Molly."

She bit her lip before carefully asking the question that needed most to be asked now. "Well, this morning, when I literally ran into you outside the café, you didn't know what had happened and what I'd overheard until I told you. What I'd like to know is…why did you want to see me this morning in the first place?"

For a moment, Mycroft Holmes looked like a deer caught in the headlights, an expression that Molly never thought that she would see on his face. In the next moment, he had lowered his gaze to his hands, which were still tending her ankle. "I truly just wanted to have a cup of coffee with you before we both returned to work…It was not my intention to ask you to accompany me here tonight, Molly. Not that I did not want to, I mean to say. I simply felt that it might be better for us to have become…well, better acquainted, done…other things building up to something as grand as this…After all, you know little about me, and anything you do know you'll have heard from my brother's negatively biased mouth. Learning that he'd spoken so cruelly and untruthfully about you, I wanted to give you the perfect opportunity to prove him wrong, and hopefully better your opinion of me and…It was a risk, I admit, to do something on this scale with you when…but I never imagined something like this would happen, and I can never apologize enough for…"

His voice faded quickly when he felt Molly's gloved hand cup his cheek. His eyes immediately lifted and met hers, his blue irises wide in wonder while her brown irises were rich and full.

"You have no reason to apologize, Mycroft," she said softly but with all she was feeling in her heart. "Even with what just happened with Sherlock, this has been the most magical night of my life. Do you think I ever would have thought it possible I would ever attend something like this? At Buckingham Palace in a ball gown? Dancing like a princess and, for the first time, truly believing I was beautiful? That's what you've given me, Mycroft, and I can never be more grateful for that…Because this wouldn't have happened if you weren't the one I was sharing this with."

Molly knew that she must feel as emotionally bare as he did, and that didn't bother her one bit. They were on equal ground, after all.

Almost unconsciously but still hesitant, Mycroft's hand rose up and his fingers touched Molly's cheek. She didn't jump or flinch; his touch was warm and so gentle. His action and expression seemed to ask, _Truly?_

_ Truly, _Molly responded silently with a tiny smile. He returned it, his thumb now caressing her cheekbone. Both were leaning into each other's warm and gentle touch.

But the spell was broken when the door into the small parlor opened, and both hands quickly pulled back. With flushed cheeks and pounding hearts, both turned their heads to see that the footman had entered the room again, holding an elegant cane of black wood and gilded handle. "Excuse me for interrupting, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Hooper. The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge wanted to pass along their regrets that they could not say goodnight in person. They had to put their son to bed. But they wanted to send their hope that Dr. Hooper is all right, and to pass this along should she need a support on her feet."

He held out the cane, and Molly's eyes widened. It truly was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, and a big part of her wanted to decline such a grand gift. But Mycroft spoke first: "Please pass along our gratitude, as Dr. Hooper needs to keep as much weight off her ankle as possible. Would you please see that her wrap, and that of Miss O'Haloran, is fetched and ready for them in the front hall, since I'll be escorting them out?"

"Of course, sir," said the footman, who handed the cane to Molly and soon disappeared silently again.

Mycroft stood up from the sofa and put the jacket of his black-tie ensemble back on. Molly, in turn, carefully raised herself to her feet with the help of the cane. Once she was upright, Mycroft was at her side, a hand under her arm in gentle support. Meeting his eyes again, Molly remembered what the footman had interrupted, and her cheeks flushed again.

"I know of a way to get to the front hall without going through the ballroom," he said softly. "The route isn't much longer, and we can make a quiet exit."

For a moment, Molly was tempted to say yes. But then changed her mind, saying, "No. I want to go out the way we came, not out some secret way as if I'd done something to be ashamed of."

A smile of admiration and adoration lit Mycroft's face as he linked her arm through his. Together, they exited the tiny parlor and entered the ballroom again.

* * *

**A/N: **_Hope this was worth the wait for you guys. I only see about two chapters left for this fic, and I definitely plan to finish it before the month is over. Reviews encourage and motivate me, so please don't hold back!_


	6. Chapter 6

**Six**

The next morning, Molly woke up to the sound of her mobile ringing on her bedside table. Groaning as she stretched herself out, Molly reached for her phone and answered it without looking at the caller ID. "Hello?" she said on a yawn.

"_Hello, Molly_."

The sound of Mycroft's familiar velvet voice woke Molly up completely. "Mycroft! My goodness, hello!"

"_I apologize for waking you up,_" he said, but Molly could hear that he was holding back a chuckle. Looking at the clock on the bedside table, she could understand why: it was nearly eleven o'clock in the morning.

Blushing in embarrassment, Molly said, "No, no, I didn't expect to sleep for so long. I suppose all of the excitement and drama of the past twenty-four hours caught up with me."

"_Completely understandable_," said Mycroft, his voice a bit softer. "_How is your ankle?_"

Molly pulled back the bed-covers to look at her bandaged limb with her doctor's eye. "Healing well, I think. You did a good job wrapping it up nice and tight. It hasn't swollen and there isn't any more pain."

"_I am very glad of that, Molly_," said Mycroft, sounding relieved. "_Still, I'd prefer you have that looked over by a licensed doctor. Don't want to leave any stone unturned._"

Molly smiled. "I'll ask John to stop by some time today and give it the once-over. How does that sound?"

"That sounds perfect, actually," said Mycroft, and Molly could hear a smile in his voice. "I wonder, Molly…may I call on you this evening?"

He sounded so hesitant about calling on a lady in her home that Molly couldn't help but smile and stifle a giggle as she replied, "I would like that very much."

Molly could have sworn she heard a relieved sigh before he responded. "_Wonderful. If you won't mind, I'll have Anthea bring the Watsons and Janine to you this afternoon._"

"No, I wouldn't mind, I'd love to see all of them, but…what are you up to, Mycroft?"

He chuckled. "_Don't worry, my dear. I merely have a feeling that you all should be together when the time comes. I'm afraid I need to go, I've got a meeting with the Italian prime minister. I look forward to seeing you this evening, Molly._"

"Me, too," replied Molly shyly. "Bye."

"_Au revoir,_" he said, and the call ended.

Molly put her mobile back on her bedside table and let herself fall back onto her bed. Blood rushed to her cheeks as she remembered leaving the ball. All of the guests had applauded as Molly was escorted back through the ballroom with Mycroft and Janine. Though all she could do was smile through her blush, the gratitude she had felt was threatening to burst from her chest. Janine, true to her word, had accompanied her home in one of Mycroft's black cars; she'd helped Molly out of her beautiful burgundy ball gown, white gloves and heirloom jewelry.

But what Molly remembered most was the silent goodbye she and Mycroft had exchanged. After Janine had gotten into the car, Molly had been about to follow but Mycroft had stopped her with a gentle hand on her waist. Turning her head to look up at him, her eyes had drifted shut when he'd leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek, quite close to the corner of her mouth. It had been all Molly could do not to let herself fall into his arms, but she'd managed to stay upright. With one last gentle smile and look of longing, he'd turned around and headed back inside Buckingham Palace.

The pathologist sighed, and touched the spot where Mycroft had kissed her; it burned in the most pleasant way as she remembered. Yes…she truly looked forward to this evening…

* * *

That afternoon, after Molly had set herself up on her living room sofa with her ankle resting comfortably, there was a knock on her front door. "Molly, it's the Watson trio plus an Irish man-grabber and an anonymous PA, can we come in?"

Laughing at Mary's choice of words, she called back, "It's open, come right in!"

The front door opened and the party entered. First came Mary, holding her smiling baby in her arms. Then came John, carrying his black medical bag in one hand. Janine and Anthea brought up the rear, both dark beauties wearing professional couture.

"Look, Emma, it's Auntie Molly!" cooed Mary, holding out the squirming baby for Molly to take. "You keep her good company while Daddy fixes her ankle and I make some tea for us all."

Molly eagerly accepted the baby, happily cuddling her while John set up on the other side of the sofa. Mary walked into the kitchen, and Anthea walked over to Molly's flat-screen TV. Janine, meanwhile, set down a pretty tin on Molly's coffee table and opened the lid. "I always get to take home the good biscuits from my employer. Hasn't got much of a stomach for sweets." They exchanged conspiratorial smiles.

Time then passed very pleasantly in Molly's cozy flat. Soon, everyone had settled down for tea and biscuits as John finished his examination of Molly's ankle. "It's a minor sprain, thank God," he said, setting a new ice pack against Molly's ankle. "You should be back on your feet in two weeks at most."

"I'm glad of that," said Molly, gently extricating a strand of her hair from Emma's eager grip. "I've already called Mike, and he's more than happy to have me use some of my many vacation days to recover."

"Well, you need anything at all, you just say the word," said Mary, squeezing Molly's hand.

Molly nodded and hesitated before asking a question in the form of a terrible joke: "So…did you break his arms or legs?"

John and Mary exchanged dark smiles. "Metaphorically," said Mary. "We got him back to Baker Street without incident, and couldn't stay long because we needed to get Emma home. But let's just say that both of those overrated cheekbones of his are sporting a few new and lovely shades of color."

"We won't lie – it felt good," said John without apology. "I just…I still can't believe that he would stoop so low! I mean, playing dirty with Moriarty or Magnussen is one thing, they ask for it, but _you,_ Molly! Just because his brother is smarter than he is…the git should know that by now!"

"What do you mean by that, John?" asked Molly, giving Emma her fingers to play with.

"I mean that Mycroft is smart enough to see what a treasure you would be to any man," replied John, giving Molly a kind smile. "So…what _is _going on with you two, anyway?"

"A hell of a lot more if she didn't have a sprained ankle, that's for sure," teased Janine before biting a jam biscuit.

"Janine!" reprimanded Mary, seeing how furiously Molly blushed before ducking her head. She then addressed Molly in a more gentle tone: "You don't have to tell us anything if you don't want to or if you're not sure, Molls."

The pathologist gave her a tremulous smile before responding, choosing each word carefully, "We haven't really had a discussion defining this new…development between us, but we both know that there really is something there. And I'd appreciate it greatly if you guys –"

" –Let you two work it out before we jump to conclusions," said Mary, nodding. "Say no more."

"For what's it's worth, Molly," said John, resting a gentle hand on her knee. "I hope it works out for you. There's no one else I know that deserves happiness more than you."

Emma gave a loud coo, as if concurring with her father.

Her lips trembled as she gave her a gentle kiss and him a grateful smile. "Thanks, John."

"Hey, Anthea, what are you up to?" asked Janine. The Watsons and Molly, who had forgotten the PA's presence, turned to the woman, who was still in front of Molly's television.

"Just plugging in a device that will allow us to watch some live CCTV footage," she replied idly.

Remembering Mycroft's cryptic words about having these five come visit her, Molly suddenly felt a twinge of excitement, though she didn't know what was coming.

What the five of them ended up watching turned out to be better than any of them could have possibly imagined. The CCTV camera was in the sitting room of 221B Baker Street, which was currently occupied by three people. One was Mycroft, who was sitting in John's chair looking quite calm and pleased. One was Sherlock, sitting in his own armchair and looking smaller than any of the viewers had ever seen him. Finally, there was a woman in her late-sixties to early-seventies who stood towering over the detective, scolding and lecturing him with a ferocity only a mother could deliver.

* * *

That evening, when she heard a knock on her front door again, Molly was able to control her eagerness as she called, "Come in!" She was a bundle of excited nerves waiting for him, and she was unashamed of her heart rate speeding up.

Her front door opened and Mycroft came in. He seemed almost nervous as he entered her living room from the hallway. But once he caught sight of her beaming, unguarded smile, his entire stance relaxed and he grinned in return.

"That. Was. Brilliant!" was all Molly could say at first through her wide smile.

"Coming from you, that means a great deal, Molly," said Mycroft, stepping closer towards her. "Though I merely did what you did so brilliantly yesterday."

"What did _I _do?" asked Molly in confusion.

Mycroft smiled at her again. "You let the punishment fit the crime: he spoke nonsense of you so you gave him his coffee the way he deserved to receive it. In this situation, I knew that a few well-aimed punches from Dr. and Mrs. Watson would not be enough to truly make Sherlock truly understand what a horrible thing he'd done. So, I did what I would always do in such situations when we were children."

"You tattled to Mummy," said Molly, grinning. "Let the punishment fit the crime indeed!"

"My dear brother is still with her, I imagine. He spent the afternoon with her shopping, and now they're having dinner before taking in a musical in the West End. And since I have my top surveillance on them and his mobile safe in my pocket, I've ensured he cannot shirk his punishment."

Molly laughed in delight and clapped her hands. "Oh, bravo! I could just…I mean, if I could, I…" Molly blushed and stopped herself from finishing that sentence with the biggest truth, and managed to finish it with a smaller truth. "Oh, if I could, I would offer you something to eat or drink, but –" She indicated her ankle, which was now resting on a footstool before her so she could face the TV.

"No, don't get up," said Mycroft. "The sooner you recover, the better. Um, may I?" he asked, indicating his coat.

"Of course," said Molly. "You're more than welcome here."

Smiling gratefully, he removed his coat and hung it up on the nearby coat rack. Molly's breath hitched when she saw that he was not wearing one of his customary three-piece suits. Instead, he wore a pair of khaki slacks, brown loafers, and a white button-up shirt with the top button undone. When he turned back around to face her, Molly couldn't help but echo back the words he had spoken to her the previous night when he'd seen her dressed for the ball:

"So, _this _is Mycroft Holmes."

Perhaps she only imagined it, but Mycroft's ears reddened at her words. "Well, I was not born in a three-piece suit, Molly."

"I'm glad of that," she said before blushing herself.

In an effort to diffuse the tension that had arisen, Mycroft turned to her television, which was on and playing something in black-and-white. His eyes lit up in recognition. "_Frankenstein, _1931, a childhood favorite. You like this movie?"

"Are you kidding? It's only the movie that first inspired me to pursue pathology," said Molly, smiling at him. "Thankfully, it also taught me that my patients are much better off dead that alive."

Mycroft laughed, a real full laugh that made Molly's smile widen into a grin. He looked at the empty space beside her on the sofa, but seemed hesitant to move. Wanting to dispel such silliness, Molly patted said spot and said, "Please, sit and keep me company."

Her invitation was exactly what he needed to hear. Hesitancy gone, Mycroft walked over and sat beside Molly on the sofa. She looked at him as he became engrossed in the movie. Thirty-six hours ago, Molly never would have dreamed she would witness Mycroft Holmes in this attire, in her flat, sitting beside her and watching a classic horror movie. And now…everything had changed.

Perhaps it was the warmth she felt radiating from him or the smell of his cologne, both of which came from his close proximity; whatever it was, it gave Molly a surge of bravery that let her lean across the sofa and kiss his cheek shyly. She quickly leaned back and turned her attention to the film, though she could feel him jump a bit beside her and felt his gaze on her. But before she could begin to think she had made a mistake or gone too far, Molly felt Mycroft take her hand in his. Relieved, she laced her fingers with his, and both watched the rest of the film smiling and in content silence.

* * *

**A/N: **_Oh, they are just so cute together! Sorry if you wanted me to go into detail narrating Sherlock's brilliant punishment, but I find that some things are too good to be described and best left to the imagination. Last chapter will hopefully be up soon. I mean, come on, they haven't even had a proper kiss yet. ;) Review, please!_


	7. Chapter 7

**Seven**

Molly was able to return to work about two weeks after the ball. Her ankle had healed beautifully, leaving no permanent damage. About an hour into her shift, as she was examining a sample of the late Mr. Overbee's stomach lining, she heard the lab doors opening. Engrossed in her task as she was, Molly didn't look up.

"Molly?"

At the sound of the very familiar and uncharacteristically nervous voice, Molly's eyes closed and she took a deep breath. Strengthening her resolve for what she knew had to be done, Molly lifted and turned her head, opening her eyes to look at Sherlock. Standing a respectable distance from her, he looked as he always had, in his standard Belstaff coat and navy scarf, hands clasped behind his back. Though the expression on his face was neutral, his eyes matched his voice.

This was the first time that Molly'd had any contact at all with Sherlock since the ball. Looking at him now, the pathologist felt only an echo of the anger and hurt she'd been feeling for him recently. What she felt more than anything now was sadness.

Sighing, Molly turned to face him. "What do you want, Sherlock?" she asked wearily.

Sherlock took a step forward, but Molly reflexively took a step back. His expression immediately went from neutral to contrite, and he lowered his head as he replied, "Your forgiveness."

"Did John and Mary threaten to break both of your legs if you didn't come apologize?" she asked, deadpan.

"I don't need them to tell me when I've done wrong and need to make it right!" said Sherlock, who looked quite offended.

"Then why wait two weeks to do it?"

"Because I…" Sherlock looked down at his shoes again. "I knew I would no longer be welcome in your home."

The sadness which Molly now felt at seeing him reinforced itself as she thought of how much his terrible behavior had destroyed between them: all that they had built up, the camaraderie, the trust. It amazed Molly how far that she had come, how much she and her feelings had changed, from when they'd first met to now.

"And you were right," she said sadly. She took a small step towards him, which caused him to look at her again. She shook her head and simply said, "How could you?" Her tone said everything else that needed to be said.

Sherlock grimaced and ran a hand through his wild curls. "I don't know, I – Molly, please believe me when I say that I never, _never_, wanted to hurt you like that, _ever_!"

"So spraining my ankle was an unintended side-effect of humiliating me in Buckingham Palace?" said Molly, feeling her anger flame up again.

"Yes – no – Molly, of course not – I didn't know what I was doing, _I wasn't thinking_!"

His transition from stuttering frustration to an explosion echoed across the lab. Molly's only reaction was to close her eyes for a brief moment and then reply coolly, "Wow. Sherlock Holmes admit he wasn't thinking? I should record that for the record books."

"Molly, you know this isn't easy for me!" whined Sherlock, almost stomping his foot. "Must you make it more difficult?"

For a moment, Molly only saw red, and wanted nothing more than to slap him across the face – as she'd done when he'd succumbed to the needle again – and scream until she was blue in the face. But that would be stooping to the level of a child – _his _level – and that was the last thing she wanted. So she clenched her hands into fists, closed her eyes, and took a gigantic deep breath to calm herself. Once she felt she could see other colors besides blood red, Molly opened her eyes again and spoke to Sherlock in a quiet but firm voice:

"Sherlock, you once apologized to me, without any prompting whatsoever, after unintentionally humiliating me in front of a few people. And this was before either of us knew I really counted in your life. Surely, after everything I've done and how much we've been through, you can apologize to me for spraining my ankle and humiliating me in front of the entire English upper class in Buckingham Palace."

The few moments of silence that followed, as Molly watched her words to Sherlock sink in, seemed to last for hours. Finally, Sherlock took a deep shaky breath, and looked at her the same way he had when he'd told her he needed her help right before the Fall. "I am…_truly _sorry, Molly. _Please _forgive me."

And Molly could see in his eyes, hear in his voice, feel in the very aura he radiated, that he meant it. But that didn't mean that she would let things go back to the way they were before; that wasn't going to happen _ever _again.

"If you want my forgiveness, Sherlock, then some changes are going to be made. From now on, we only see each other on a professional basis, right here at Bart's and only when I'm on a shift or on-call. No more late night requests or demands, unless it is an emergency for an urgent case. And whenever you need some body part, you don't get it unless I get a detailed explanation of what exactly you're going to do with it. And I know it goes without saying that you're not welcome in my home anymore. You've got at least half a dozen other bolt-holes over the city; you'll survive losing one."

Watching the expressions that crossed his face – his eyes, really – in reaction to her ultimatum was quite interesting, to say the least. The progression from shock, to indignity, to anger, to frustration, to hard resignation, and finally to sad acceptance couldn't have taken more than thirty seconds, but Molly caught every single emotion as if there had been clear subtitles below his head. Then, like a defeated man, Sherlock slumped, hung his head, and turned to leave.

But Molly stopped his by gently taking his arm. He immediately stopped and turned in the hope that she had changed her mind. But Molly had done no such thing; nothing would change her mind about this after all that had happened. But she did speak to him genuinely from the heart, holding his lost gaze with her warm one.

"I truly hope that things will get better between us, Sherlock, because, believe it or not, the last thing I want is to cut you out of my life. I know that there is a good man in you; show that to me, and you'll have my forgiveness and my unconditional friendship again."

They looked at each other, his gaze powerful and her gaze steady, until Sherlock finally nodded; a simple gesture, but the best possible response he could have given her.

With that and a nod of her own, Molly released his arm and returned to her microscope (once she had called it "his," but it was really hers). She listened to his footsteps as they approached the lab doors, but looked up again when she didn't hear them immediately open.

"There is another reason why I've waited until now to see you, Molly," said the consulting detective, his voice nearly back to his usual neutral tone.

"And what's that, Sherlock?" asked Molly, not sure where this was going.

Sherlock's nose wrinkled as though some bad cheese were put under it. "I did _not _wish to have a run-in with my dear big brother."

Molly held back a smile with some difficulty. It was a funny but valid reason, after all: Mycroft had visited her every single day of her recovery/vacation period at home. But before she could say anything, Sherlock spoke again, his tone firm and sincere.

"He hurts you at all, and the Watsons won't be the only ones who will break his limbs."

The ghost of a smile appeared on Sherlock's face at the sight of Molly's shocked expression. With a nod that conveyed nothing but the deep respect she had asked for, Sherlock exited the lab and was gone.

Once Molly had gotten over the shock, a little smile of her own appeared as she went back to work. She didn't know for certain that they would be okay, but at least now she had hope.

* * *

Usually, Molly didn't take advantage of the full hour she was allotted for lunch when she worked the regular day shift. She would normally take a half hour – fifteen minutes if she was backed up with work, less to none if Sherlock were demanding her help – but not today. Glad to have the full use of all her lower limbs again, Molly decided to take a walk in the park nearby.

However, no sooner was she well into the park that the heavens opened and rain began to fall. _And, of course, I'm unprepared yet again, _Molly thought sulkily. With a frustrated groan, Molly lowered her head and plowed ahead along the path back towards the hospital.

But then, the most wonderful déjà vu happened.

Molly had barely taken a few steps when she collided with a warm and solid body. Before she could stumble or fall back, an arm had wrapped around her back to steady her. As if by magic, the rain ceased to fall just above her. This and his scent, now quite familiar to her, told Molly exactly who it was. And her heart rejoiced.

Mycroft, who had an expression of amused tenderness on his face, asked, "Why is it, my dear, that you seem incapable of preparing for wet weather?"

With a beaming smile, she laughed and replied cheekily, "Why would I need to do that when you always seem ready to share your umbrella?"

Mycroft chuckled, and leaned down to kiss her forehead; Molly's cheeks flushed at the action. She had lost count by now of how many kisses Mycroft had given her. However, they were all the kind of kisses that could be given by friends or family. Always on her forehead, cheek, or hands, never anywhere that would cross the line from platonic to romantic. While she couldn't help but feel frustrated at times, knowing that she wanted him to cross that line and be just a bit less of the perfect gentleman he was, Molly would never deny that she treasured every kiss he gave her.

"Come, let's walk for a while," said Mycroft, looping her arm through his. With his umbrella securely over them to block the downpour, they walked along the path further into the park. Molly was a bit surprised. She thought that Mycroft would have wanted to get her out of the wet weather as soon as possible, but she was more than happy to walk with him now. He spoke again: "Happy to be back at work?"

"Oh, yes," replied Molly, enjoying the easy pace the two were walking. "As lovely as it was to have a break, you can only lounge on your sofa in front of the telly before going stir-crazy. I was very glad to come back to the morgue."

Mycroft gave her a smile, amused at how such a morbid statement sounded perfectly natural coming from her. But his smile soon faded as he carefully remarked. "I'm glad of that…and I take it you've had a visitor, as well."

Molly sighed. It came as no surprise that Mycroft would know that his brother had finally approached her. "So you know what happened, then?"

"While I know that he visited you, I did not eavesdrop," said Mycroft. "I would rather hear what happened from you. That is, if you would like to talk about it. If not, I would only like your assurance that he did not distress you in some way."

Molly reached down and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry, he didn't, and I want to tell you what happened, anyway."

With that, Molly told Mycroft the full story of Sherlock's visit, his apology, and her ultimatum. Mycroft listened without interruption, keeping her hand in his as they leisurely walked under his umbrella. When she was finished, he lifted that hand and kissed her palm.

"I'm proud of you, my dear. Everything you did was the right thing to do in light of everything. I know that the Watsons and myself will do everything to make sure that Sherlock does not forget these new parameters. However, I will make sure that you will always have the necessary body parts that he will undoubtedly request. When he is not on a case, I will feel much more at ease if he has something else to occupy himself with."

"Of course," said Molly, squeezing his hand with both of hers. Like him, the last thing she wanted was for Sherlock to be at all tempted to go, as Mycroft would put it, 'back on the sauce.' Wanting to lighten the mood a bit, Molly asked, "So, was he always a…um…a handful?"

She couldn't help but laugh as Mycroft rolled his eyes in reaction.

"Oh, yes, he was _incorrigible._ I was seven when he came into the world, and though he was anything but a peaceful baby, his pretty eyes and head full of curls always charmed everybody in the end. That hasn't really changed as we got older…" He gave her a sideways glance, but quickly looked forward again.

Molly, however, understood what Mycroft was too afraid to address, and she was more than happy to clear up what could turn into a future insecurity. "He can be very charming when he wants to. He's proven that to me more times than I can count. But thankfully, my silly infatuation never evolved into something that would get me in real trouble. Whatever shreds were left of it were destroyed two weeks ago when I overheard him talking to John in the lab."

She looked up at Mycroft, so he would see that she was being completely honest. He did, and kissed her hand again, lingeringly. After a few moments of easy silence between them as they walked, sheltered from the rain by his umbrella, Mycroft broke the silence: "May I tell you a story, Molly?"

Molly nodded, noticing how he sounded almost nervous. "Of course."

Mycroft took a breath and then began: "Despite how my brother and I value logic and clear-thinking more than anything as adults, we still had our dreams and fantasies as children. Mine was to be a knight of Camelot in King Arthur's court."

Molly smiled. "I can see that."

He looked surprised but far from displeased. "You can?"

"Yes," said Molly sweetly. "A knight devotes his life to king – or queen – and country. And that's exactly what you do. So, in a way, your dream came true."

His cheeks flushed without same, and he stopped their walk so he could face her. The look on his face made Molly's heart pound; he held her hand so tightly, and Molly saw that the hand gripping the umbrella had just as tight a grip. For a moment, she felt absolutely sure that he would kiss her, _really _kiss her, but the moment passed and he resumed talking.

"Well, I suppose the myth of a perfect kingdom, the round table, a true king and righteous knights, always appealed to me. I would devour anything I could find related to the subject. Odd, I suppose, that my two great childhood passions were Camelot myths and horror movies."

Molly giggled. "Mine were science fiction books and fairy stories. I can relate, you know."

He gave her a smile. "Quite suiting, Molly. My brother, on the other hand, wanted to be a pirate. This lasted all through the years he was small, even going so far as to name his Irish setter Redbeard."

Molly laughed and rolled her eyes. "Again, not surprising. Not regarding any rules, taking whatever he wants, and a life of adventure and danger…that's Sherlock."

Before the thought could turn into something more depressing, Mycroft kissed her cheek and brought her attention back to him. "Well, the Christmas morning I was twelve and he was five, one of his gifts was a sword. A play-sword, of course, but such a work of art. For a boy who wanted nothing more than to be a knight, it was perfect. But it wasn't for me, it was for Sherlock." He sighed. "I will never accuse my parents of loving me second-best, but in the face of such a charming and mesmerizing little brother whom everyone couldn't stop calling _adorable…_well, a child cannot help feeling that they would always get the silver, never the gold…"

Molly touched his cheek with her free hand when his voice faded, and he kissed her palm before resuming as her hand fell back to her side.

"Well, five-year-old Sherlock took one look at his present and threw a tantrum. '_This is not a pirate's sword! It needs to be curved with a golden handle and not so shiny! I don't want it!_' He threw the sword aside like it would contaminate him. While my parents tried to calm him down, I discreetly took the sword and took it up to my room. From that moment on, it was my sword; I took care of it, played with it, and treasured it. While I don't play with it today, I still have it. Sentimental, yes, but it truly is a beautiful thing."

His story finished, Molly found that she couldn't say anything. Her heart felt too full for that. So, she decided not to talk but take a chance.

Her free hand rose and cupped his cheek again. Then, she rose up on her tiptoes, closed her eyes, and brushed his lips with hers in a gentle kiss. It relieved her his lips responded, but she still only let it last a few seconds before pulling away and lowering the soles of her shoes to the wet ground again.

For a moment, Mycroft stood there with his eyes closed and a peaceful expression on his face. Then, his eyes opened and focused hungrily on her. He let go of her hand and cupped the back of her neck. He lowered his head and whispered in her ear:

"_As exquisite as that was, I think we can do better._"

With that, his lips were on hers and he lived up to that statement. This kiss didn't just cross the line to the romantic side – it _leaped _over it. Her hands gripped the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer as their lips learned each other eagerly. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, and then his other arm dropped in the bliss they were experiencing. It wasn't until the both of them tasted water as well as each other that they realized they were getting drenched.

They broke apart, Mycroft flustered and Molly giddy. "Oh, Molly, I'm so sorry!" Mycroft apologized, bringing the umbrella back up to shield them again. "I…I forgot myself."

Molly, who could not stop smiling, giggled. "Nothing to apologize for. I hope you do that more often in the future."

Her cheeks burned at the implications of her innocent flirtation, but Mycroft merely grinned like the Cheshire cat. "Your wish is my command, my dear. However, I do believe that it is time we get you back to St. Bart's. I'd rather you have time for a quick lunch than no lunch."

Molly nodded, and they turned on the path so they now walked towards St. Bart's. But this time, Molly's arm was around his waist and Mycroft's arm was around her shoulders. Their pace now was a bit faster but still easy, as was the silence between them until Mycroft sighed.

Hearing it, Molly looked at him. "Is something wrong?"

"I've just realized that this may not have been the best timing," he replied. Before she could start doubting herself, he kissed her head and said, "Don't misunderstand me, my dear. I do not and will never regret what we've just shared. However, I do need to tell you what I've found out this morning, and now I know for sure you will not like it."

"What is it?" Molly asked.

"I have to leave tonight for South Korea. There are some tricky negotiations that need to be made with their northern neighbor, which call for my personal appearance. Unfortunately, this little trip is expected to last several weeks."

Molly suddenly got a lump in her throat. Not a day had gone by in the last two weeks that she hadn't seen him. Now he would be away for what could be longer. She didn't like the idea at all, but what could she do? This was a man whose career would always have to come first; the very country depended on it. So, she swallowed and said, "Oh…Well, you'll be safe, won't you?"

"Of course," said Mycroft tenderly, pulling her a bit closer to his side. "My security detail are truly the best at what they do. And I promise that I will get what needs to be done as quickly as possible."

"Good," murmured Molly, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I will miss you."

Hearing this, Mycroft slowed and stopped their steps altogether, and turned her to face him. His eyes glowing, Mycroft touched his free hand to her cheek and spoke in a rich, intimate voice. "Marguerite…"

Molly's breath hitched. She couldn't remember the last time that anybody, including herself, used her full name. Her mother and her family had been French, but her mother had died before Molly could remember her, so her French roots – and full French name – were something she often couldn't help forgetting. Hearing it now, from this man she was falling hard for, felt like he was giving her back something so special and intimate, she knew that he would be the only person she would ever want to call her Marguerite again.

"What I want with you, what I'm asking for, is no easy or small thing. You know that my position in the government will always take priority when it demands that, and there will be aspects about it that I will never be able to share with you. At the same time, I do not want what we have…what I would like us to have…to be, in any way, casual, shallow…or temporary."

Tears filled Molly's eyes, and she gave him a small smile. "I understand your position, Mycroft. I don't mind if you need to keep secrets; as long as you tell me that you can't tell me if I ask and why as best you can, this won't be a problem. And, as someone who wears my heart on my sleeve, I would never want something that has no possibility of becoming something serious, deep, and lasting." She touched the hand he was holding to her cheek, and finished in a whisper. "Especially not when I've already fallen so far…"

Without a word, Mycroft gently but firmly led her off the path and to a large beech tree. Under the branches, the downpour of rain was only reduced to a few occasional drops. He lowered and closed his umbrella, leaned it against the tree trunk, then pulled Molly to him for another wonderful kiss. She offered no resistance whatsoever.

When she came up for air, Molly looked into his stormy grey-blue eyes, and asked what she had wanted to ask for two weeks: "Why me? Why now?"

"The party the Watsons threw in honor of bringing their daughter home. I dropped by simply to pay my respects and good wishes, but I ended up staying for a bit longer than that. It was you, Molly. You…I can't explain it. You were just so different to the other times I'd seen you, at ease with yourself and truly happy with your friends. You were out of your shell and your guard was down. It was the first time in a very long time that I ever both wanted to and was terrified to approach a woman."

"But you didn't," said Molly, shaking her head as she remembered that joyful little party. Everyone was cooing over the baby, including her, so she probably had barely noticed him. "You never talked to me that day."

"Aside from the fact that I knew Sherlock was there and would want to know exactly why I had approached you, I felt as shy as a schoolboy. It took a few weeks, and a rather nasty incident with Romania that we barely managed to keep quiet, before I found the courage to ask you for coffee. And, of course, you know what happened after that.

"As for why…the time between seeing you anew and finally approaching you…in that time, a man my age can realize that, no matter how important his job is and how much he is capable of getting for himself with money or other means…a life can still be empty."

A tear fell from each of Molly's dark eyes before she raised herself up and kissed his lips fiercely; he reciprocated right back. Then, Molly lowered herself and rested her head on his chest as she wrapped her arms around him. She then whispered three words:

"_Not empty now_."

Mycroft returned the tight embrace, resting his cheek on her head after kissing her there.

Though around them it was raining, the world they had created now was warm and wonderful, for it was a world that would last a lifetime.

**The End**

* * *

**A/N: **_Well, there you have it! Sherlock's started to redeem himself, and the adorable MH's have come together! This last part was inspired by the end of _Little Women, _specifically the chapter entitled "Under the Umbrella." I've always found it romantic, and if adapted for _Sherlock_, it's pretty obvious to me who it'll involve._

_I really hope you've enjoyed this little Mollcroft fic. It probably would have been more realistic if I made it really angsty, but I didn't want to write angst. Mycroft and Molly, as minor characters who don't appear as often as the main ones, can be open to a lot of possibilities. So I really hope you all have enjoyed this fluffy romance. Leave a last review and keep an eye out for my next fic, whether Mollcroft or Sherlolly. XXX_


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